


Woman on a Mission

by Meredydd



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meredydd/pseuds/Meredydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their dates have been nice. Sweet. Tame. But Molly is a woman on a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woman on a Mission

The date had been nice. All of their dates had been... nice. Greg had been the perfect gentleman, never pressing for more than a goodnight kiss _outside_ her block of flats, never inside by her door. Molly had gone from worried ( _Did he change his mind about me? Does he still love his ex?_ ) to embarrassed ( _Why did I let Renee talk me into the crop top for last Saturday's date? He couldn't even look me in the face!_ ) to downright annoyed ( _We eye fucked for six months and now he's treating me like some dowager auntie! I am a woman, for crying out loud! With bits that would truly love meeting your bits, Greg Lestrade!_ ). Molly, however, said none of those things to his face. She smiled. She kissed him (lips closed, eyes open, hands on elbows, pelvises not even in the same post code). She wanted to scream. She thanked him for the date, he smiled down at her and brushed a curl back from her face. “Of course, Mols. I'm glad you had a good time.”

Molly hesitated. “Actually, Greg... It's not very late. Would you like to come inside? Have some wine, maybe? Or tea... I have so much tea. John keeps giving me boxes of the stuff,” she trailed off, aware she was on the verge of a babble. “Um.”

Greg bit his lip, looked away, looked as if he were considering breaking a land speed record to the tube station. “I should get back,” he said after a moment of sticky quiet. “Early day on, er... Tuesday.”

Molly started to nod, started to mumble a goodbye, but something inside her snapped (she would later blame the red lace thong Renee had also goaded her into buying for what she did next). “Damn it, Greg! I am thirty four years old, I have a sex drive, and I want to use it with you!” Greg's jaw dropped. His eyes flew wide. His words went unheard, swallowed by Molly's sudden, fierce, absolutely, sloppily decadent kiss. Molly powered through the sudden flare of embarrassment, instead grabbing onto his lapels with enough force to pop a few stitches. Greg grunted in surprise, the sound sliding into a groan as Molly's tongue pressed against his lips. A hoot from a passing cab made them pull apart, but Molly did not let go. “Inside,” she panted. “Please.”

“Mols,” he started, the closed his eyes. “Oh, fucking Hell. I've been trying to go slow, take time with you... I didn't want you to think...”

“Gregory Lestrade, if you think I am dim enough to think you just want an easy lay from me, you are not a good detective.” She kissed him again, quick and hard, then whispered, “Don't worry, I'll still respect you in the morning.”  
*** 

Molly had never been so happy to have a first floor flat as she was in that moment. One short, awkward flight of stairs, trying to grip Greg's hand and fish her keys out at the same time, and they were in her flat. Greg pressed close behind her, hands ghosting over her hips as if he were afraid to touch her. Molly turned in his arms, pressing close as she locked the door behind him. “Tell me now,” she said, voice shaking only a little. “Tell me if you don't want me like this. I'll... I'll pretend this never happened and--”

“Shhh! Christ, no, Molly!” Greg did grip her then, hands tight on her back, forehead against her shoulder. “I've been feeling like a dirty old man, you know? I'm eighteen years older than you and I look like I could be your da, and here I am, spending hours of my life fantasizing about all the things I want to do to you, what I want _you_ to do to me and--” He took a breath and lifted his face to meet her wide, startled gaze. “You have no idea how hard it is for me to leave at the end of our dates, wanting more than a kiss...”

“Greg,” Molly sighed, “for one thing, you do _not_ look old enough to be my father, and for another...” Her kiss was slow and deep, drawing another groan from Greg. She felt as if the world were tilting for a moment before she realized he was lifting her, moving her to the loveseat in her tiny sitting room. It became a warm, tingling, slightly squidgy blur as patience and nervousness flew away (along with shoes, socks, Molly's jumper and bra, and most of Greg's clothing). 

“Bloody, buggering, Hell,” Greg panted against her sweat-slick, love-bitten, breast. “Is that red lace?” Molly barely had time to yelp in surprise before Greg was between her legs, tongue pressing against the gusset of her pants. “You look good in red.”

Molly _wanted_ to formulate a coherent response, but all that came out of her mouth was “guh” as Greg tugged aside the scrap of fabric and kissed her folds. Her fingers found purchase in his hair and she tugged involuntarily, drawing a deep groan from him, and a quick flick of his tongue against her clit. She gasped, arching her back as he did it again, then a third time but slower, deeper. She wanted to cry, it felt so good, his finger sliding into her as his tongue and lips and teeth worked her sensitive flesh. Somewhat vaguely, she was aware that Greg had moved his free hand away from her hip, and his arm was bumping her leg. A moment later, his deep moan made her eyes spring open. “Oh my God,” she panted, arousal spiking hard. Greg Lestrade was not only giving her the best tongue lashing of her life (of which she had had sadly few, something she now intended to rectify, seeing as her boyfriend was apparently an enthusiast), he was _wanking on her sofa_. Molly had not been aware she needed that in her life until that very moment. She didn’t have log to dwell on it, however. Greg added a second finger to the first inside her and, crooking them just a bit, sucked gently but firmly on her clit at the same time. Molly was fairly certain she woke up all of Tooting and probably invoked several deities as Greg refused to stop until she collapsed back on the sofa, her body rag-limp and shaking. He moved back over her, careful not to put his full weight down, and kissed her neck, her chin, and finally her mouth, startling when she deepened the embrace, unafraid to taste herself on him.

“Okay,” Greg said after several long, damp moments. “So I was an arse to go so slow?”

It startled a laugh out of Molly. “No! I was just...frustrated. Worried you'd decided I was too dull or...” she trailed off. “Something.” 

“Molly, look at me. You are the most interesting, captivating, _sexy_ woman I know and it is strictly sheer will power that kept me from throwing myself at your feet on our first date and begging you to come to bed with me.”

Well. Wasn't that an interesting idea... Molly shivered, deciding to save that thought for later. “I think we should get cleaned up,” she finally said, and ran her fingers through Greg's hair. “And, um... Um. I. Well.” She sighed, felt her face turning red, as she said in a rush, “I've fancied you for ages and I am so glad you feel that way.”

Greg laughed against her neck. “You fancy me, eh? I'm shocked! You hid it so well!”

“Oh, shut it,” she grumbled, wiggling out from beneath him. “Bags I first shower!”

“Sticky wench,” he called after her.

Molly stuck her head out of the bathroom and grinned. “Aren't you going to try to join me?”  
“That's...possible.” He was already moving.  
“I never said you couldn't!”


End file.
